


Evergreen Bullshit

by Coffee_Flavored_Kisses



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: AU, Christmas, First Kiss, M/M, Mistletoe, au where they didn't start dating right away, canoodling in the apothecary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Flavored_Kisses/pseuds/Coffee_Flavored_Kisses
Summary: Patrick's really into Christmas traditions. Like Mistletoe.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 19
Kudos: 178





	Evergreen Bullshit

**Author's Note:**

> For Abebe.

David’s still trying to find a way to make the store smell like vanilla, because the smell of cinnamon has always been a little off-putting to him. He isn’t sure why they ordered so many of those wreaths with the little berries on them, or what in the world possessed Patrick to predict (rightly, as it turned out) that people would be in the holiday spirit, thus inducing these mass purchases. He isn’t sure why he’s let Patrick bring in decorations for the store itself or why, most absurdly, he’s actually let Patrick put those decorations up.

He doesn’t mind the wreathes on the door so much. They’re not overwhelming, they smell of pine, and they blend in well enough with the other outdoor ambience that they’re not offensive. The garlands Patrick had put up over the tops of the shelves aren’t ideal, but they don’t get in the way, and as long as Patrick takes them down the second Christmas is over, he supposes he can put up with it. At least they’re that same deep evergreen color as everything else, and even if it doesn’t match the interior of the store, it doesn’t clash, either. And anyway, it makes Patrick happy.

More than anything, that’s what he wants, he realizes. Though in all truth, he’d realized it long before the Christmas season. He can’t pinpoint the exact day or time, but he thinks it was probably that first night they opened the store to the public. The first time he touched Patrick with more than a handshake. When they hugged, and he didn’t want to let go. When for a second – half a second, really – he could swear Patrick didn’t want to let go, either.

Or maybe it had happened the night of his birthday. Patrick drove him home after dinner, and Stevie had gotten into David’s head about sentimentality and the significance of the gift Patrick had given him. And David thought for a moment that Patrick might kiss him when he dropped him off, but he didn’t. And David almost kissed Patrick, but at the last second, he thought better of himself.

He’d ruined enough promising things for himself. For some reason, this one felt more important. He wasn’t going to screw it up.

“Did we get a package while I was out this morning?” Patrick asks suddenly, and David’s thoughts are invaded immediately the way they always are when Patrick speaks.

“We got a few,” David tells him. “I put them on the counter in back.”

Patrick leaves the main room for the back, and after a moment, he returns with the smallest box that had arrived that morning. Patrick often orders things without David’s approval, like “utility pens” (as opposed to pens to be sold in-store) or toner for the printer or pocket calculators, which is something David hadn’t seen even once between the time he’d graduated primary school and Patrick’s first day working with him. And David watches Patrick open this box, too, because David will always take the opportunity to look at Patrick, and he notices something different. He notices the small green bundle tied to red string, and he’s just figured out what it is as Patrick says it out loud.

“Mistletoe!”

David shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly. “I draw the line at mistletoe.”

“It’s just a decoration, David,” Patrick smiles, and he’s already looking for the perfect place to hang it, David can tell.

“This entire season is fraught with exuberance and materialism,” David says. “Which I could handle if it the décor wasn’t so gaudy and tasteless.”

“This is gaudy and tasteless?” Patrick asks, holding it up. “David, it’s smaller than my fist.”

And now David’s looking at Patrick’s hands, and he is thinking about Patrick’s hands, and he has to look away before he gets distracted.

“There’s no purpose for it.”

“It’s playful,” Patrick offers.

“It’s a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen.”

“What, amongst all of our employees here who might happen to walk under it?”

“What if a customer steps under it, and another customer takes it as an invitation?”

“So we won’t hang it by the customers.” He stops and looks around for a second, but it’s obvious where the only viable option is. He points to the threshold to the room behind the counter. “I’ll put it here.”

David wants to stop him, he really does, but Patrick has already found a stepladder, a hammer, a nail. He’s already climbing and centering the placement. He’s stretching his arms upward. He’s hammering. He’s hanging it. David swears the whole process couldn’t have taken more than five seconds.

“See? Really brings the room together.” He begins his descent from the ladder, and David’s trying not to think about mistletoe and Patrick’s smile and certainly not the combination of the two.

“It’s tacky,” he tells him.

“It’s tradition,” Patrick counters. “My parents always hang the mistletoe. I don’t know, it just… felt like a piece of home.”

And David can’t argue with him now. He can’t deny Patrick a piece of the home he hasn’t seen since he’s moved here close to a year ago now. He can’t deny Patrick anything.

“I guess,” he mumbles. “But next year, I do the decorating.”

“I suppose,” Patrick winks.

…

At the end of that day, they’ve found themselves placing the remainder of the holiday-themed décor around the store and products on shelves at a rate barely keeping up with demand. At five sharp, Patrick turns the bolt in the lock and counts up the cash. And David’s feet are hurting, so he’s ready to go.

“Can you help me with these last few boxes first?” Patrick asks, and he might as well have asked David to cut off his feet and donate them to science.

“Can’t we just come in early and do it?” David asks, eyeing the stack eight boxes high, all filled with metal and glass, which means heavy and fragile, and he’s not interested in either option.

“Which one of us do you think will come in early?” Patrick asks, a smile teasing his lips. “C’mon, David, you know as well as I do that if we don’t do these now, they’ll never get done.”

“They’ll get done.”

“Not by both of us. And I think this whole partnership could benefit from a little more teamwork.”

“Um, excuse me? We work as a team all the time,” David argues, but it isn’t holding water. Patrick is standing by the boxes now, his elbows on the top one, shaking his head a little.

“It’ll take ten minutes,” he promises. “Max.”

David sighs dramatically as he stands from the chair and joins Patrick by the boxes. He thinks of saying something flirtatious, something about the way he’d like to see Patrick bending and lifting, but perhaps this isn’t the time for that. Not that they haven’t flirted before, because he knows they have. Well, he’s pretty sure it was flirting. He’s almost positive.

Either way, this isn’t the time.

“You grab that end,” Patrick tells him, already lifting his side. And David does as he says, the two of them moving the awkward, heavy box to the back corner of the stock room, carefully placing it on the floor before they leave to retrieve the next one.

This process continues in relative silence, two boxes down, then three, then four. But on the fifth, a noticeably lighter box, Patrick suggests they each take one. So they do. David brings his in the room first with Patrick just behind, but then David stops in the doorway to look at the pile and study it as Patrick places his box on top of another one.

“Do you think those boxes should be their own stack?” he asks, pointing at the boxes that are lighter, the ones they’ve just brought back there.

Patrick stands, hands on his hips, and considers it for a moment. “You’re probably right,” he answers.

“I’m definitely right.”

“Well okay then, hotshot, come move the boxes.”

“No. I think my prize for being right is watch you do the work.” And as soon as he says it, he worries he’s given himself away. Given away that he enjoys watching Patrick work, as creepy as that sounds. Given away that he likes watching Patrick do anything or everything or nothing. Given away that he likes Patrick. Period.

“I suppose I should give you this one since you don’t get to enjoy being right often,” Patrick teases, and David’s biting his lip to keep from smiling as he watches Patrick move the two lighter boxes to their own pile beside the heavy ones. It’s fast, too, but it’s enough. It’s just enough.

“Happy now?” Patrick asks, walking close to David now.

David leans his weight against the doorway and allows himself to smile. “I’m always happy to see other people working.”

Patrick joins him there, smiling, smiling too much, and it starts to worry David.

“What?” he asks.

Patrick’s eyes peer up. Fucking mistletoe.

David rolls his eyes. “You and your stupid traditions.”

Patrick reaches a hand to David’s shoulder. He’s silent. David’s frozen in place. Patrick’s moving closer, and David isn’t sure if he should run or scream or melt into a puddle right there. He closes his eyes, and the next thing he knows, there’s a soft sensation against his cheek, brief and chaste, and it’s gone just as quickly.

“Back to work, buddy.”

He lets Patrick pass him before he follows slowly after, trying not to think too deeply about the way it felt. Like it was meant to be more, almost intentional, and how Patrick kissed his cheek (his _cheek_?) before moving on as if David should be able to function after that. Still, he watches as Patrick picks up another, and he looks at the lone box left on the floor. On the one hand, Patrick was right – this was a fast job. On the other hand, unfortunately Patrick was right about this being a fast job.

He crouches beside the box and places his arms around it. Patrick is already in back, but David is here holding onto this like it’s the last chance he’ll have to say anything meaningful. To do anything meaningful. To say that the kiss on the cheek wasn’t quite heaven but he can almost believe in pearly gates and see golden streets already.

“Having trouble there?” he hears, and Patrick is the one standing in the doorway this time, arms empty, smiling down at David. Like he’s waiting for something.

But he isn’t. David’s sure of it.

“Just… straightening out my back,” he answers, lifting the box and making his way toward Patrick. “Safety first.”

“Of course.”

David stops at the doorway, his arms full, and Patrick’s still standing there. Looking at him. They’re too far from each other for one of those half-assed pecks on the cheek, so David isn’t sure what’s going on.

“Once you get that back there, you can go,” Patrick tells him.

David nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I was planning to.”

“Oh. Okay.” He stands there a moment longer, then moves out of the way, and David walks to the back and places the box where it goes. He stands and turns, and Patrick’s still standing there, no longer smiling, but his eyes are fond and glowing, and David has a hard time looking away from them.

“You think we should do some rearranging in here?” Patrick asks, breaking the silence, much to David’s grateful ears. “You know, move some stuff around into a better system or something?”

David looks around them. He’s got a good system down, he thinks, and there’s no need to change it up. Still, if Patrick is bringing it up, maybe there’s a good reason.

“I don’t know,” he says, walking closer to Patrick, still looking around. “Why?”

“Just… the way we have it organized. Think it could be improved upon?”

David joins Patrick and stands beside him, crossing his arms in front of him. “I guess we could reorganize when we put the Christmas stuff away.”

Patrick nods. “Yup,” he says. It’s all he says.

“Maybe we could…” David lets his voice trail off into nothing, suddenly aware of their closeness, aware of the lack of empty space between them. He clears his throat. “Maybe we could arrange things alphabetically.”

It’s a terrible idea. It doesn’t make sense. David doesn’t know why he said it. More than that, he doesn’t know why Patrick’s nodding along.

“We’re standing here again, you know,” David says finally. But only because his heart is about to explode. His eyes are focused on the boxes at the end of the room, and Patrick’s eyes are focused on David, and the room feels like it’s run out of oxygen.

“It’s like you’re doing it on purpose,” Patrick replies quietly, something like a giggle on the tail end of it.

David stays silent, focused.

“Maybe we could make up a color-coded system or something?” Patrick offers. “You know. Binders and stuff?”

David looks at Patrick, and it catches both of them off guard.

“Color-coded?” David asks.

“With binders,” Patrick answers.

“That’s a terrible idea,” David whispers.

“I know,” Patrick says, and he leans in, hands on David’s cheeks, and he’s kissing him. This is no cheek kiss, no innocent mistletoe custom or flirtatious shot in the dark. Patrick’s kissing David, and David’s kissing him back, and there’s barely enough room for the two of them in this doorway, but they’re still in this doorway, and suddenly everything is organized, everything is in the perfect order for the both of them for the first time in as long as either can remember.

When they break away from it, which isn’t as much of a break as it is a pause for breath, Patrick’s hand slide down to David’s shoulders. Half-lidded eyes stare for moment into David’s before blinking themselves wide open. And he wants to pull away, he really does, but David’s only just now started holding onto him, too.

“Please just kiss me the next time you want to kiss me,” David tells him softly. “You don’t have to drag my organizational skills into it.”


End file.
